sound vs. noise

I dont think theres anybody out there who is as fixated about sounds as I am. A good tune can (and quite often does) make me cry or laugh out loud. A strange noise outside my window will have me intrigued until I uncover its origin. I love to listen to sounds in the forest and have to have music surround me most of my time. Music is the heart of my life, as corny as it may sound.

But then theres the kind of noise that I loathe. And those kind of noises will consume me even more than pleasant sounds do. My downstairs neighbour is an alcoholic. I see no reason to get worked up about it as some of my elderly neighbours do. But then, in the middle of the night, he brings his friends home from the park (where they usually hang out, drinking homemade vodka). They talk loud. I start to twitch. They put the music on. I get my earplugs. They start to sing along to some tacky Swedish pop tune and I am livid. I hate him. I lie in my bed and wish I was a bloke so I could go down and piss through his letterbox.

I think about phoning the police, and then hate myself being so petty.

what would I want someone to do if I had a noisy party? I think to myself, the damaged daughter of a psychiatrist I am.

oh, of course I will go downstairs and knock on his door and politely ask him to turn his noise down.

I get out of my warm bed, get dressed and wander downstairs. Knock on his door. Knock again. And again. No one gives a fuck. I hate him. I hate his screechy doorbell and I hate his stupid stereo with his knackered speakers. I hate his arrogance and most of all I hate being the kind of person who had to get out of bed to knock on his door.

Finally the music and out-of-tune-sing-along stops. I get back into bed. Five minutes later theres loud banging in my ceiling:

thump-thump-thump paws-paws-paws thump-thump-thump paws-paws-paws

The upstairs neighbour has a gorgeous Labrador who enjoys playing with his tennis ball in the middle of the night. Now how come that noise makes me smile?